Cole in My Stocking Read Free Page A

Cole said. “She’s married to a professor at UNH.”
    I felt my nose wrinkle. “You’re having an affair with a married woman?” If we’d been parked beside a canyon, I’m pretty sure my screech would have echoed for many uncomfortable seconds.
    An honest to goodness chuckle huffed from between his lips. “We’re just friends.”
    “Oh.” Idiot. “Thanks for the tire change.” I started the window on its upward trajectory lest he see me turn as crimson as my turtleneck with embarrassment.
    At considerable risk to himself, he reached in, moved my finger from the button and lowered the window back down. “You staying at your dad’s place?” he asked, as if I hadn’t nearly guillotined his arm.
    “Um.” I stared at his long fingers. His forearm rested well inside the ledge of my window. He was in my space, elbow bent to let his hand dangle far enough down that he almost grazed the puffy down of my sleeve. I felt the almost-touch like tiny jolts to my skin.
    He moved his arm back to the window frame, taking his electric fingertips with him.
    When I tried to meet his eyes, they were in that blasted shadow again. “Sorry. What?” He’d asked me a question, hadn’t he?
    “You staying at your dad’s place?” he repeated.
    “Yeah.” I nodded too many times. “Dad’s place,” I echoed unnecessarily. Mentally giving myself a shake, I resolved to get the heck out of there before I made an even bigger dork out of myself.
    “Go on home. I’ll follow to make sure you get in okay.”
    “You don’t have to do that.” It occurred to me I didn’t know where Cole lived. He’d said he was headed home. Did that mean he lived in Newburgh? There wasn’t much reason to be on Newburgh Junction Road unless your destination lay in the dearth of main arteries the town represented. How far did he live from Dad’s place? Scratch that. None of my business.
    “I know I don’t have to,” he said. “I’m doing it anyway. Go on home, Mandy. I’ll take off when you’re safe inside.”
    The set of his jaw said he wasn’t going to budge. “It’s not my home,” I muttered before powering up the window.
    He let me this time and followed me through Newburgh’s blink-and-you-miss-it downtown and around the unmarked turn-off that led toward the dump…and Dad’s single-wide mobile home.
    A few minutes later, I waved from the bay window. Cole flashed his headlights in acknowledgment and backed down the driveway. A current of excitement warmed me from the inside out as I looked forward to seeing him at Dad’s funeral.
    And that, kids, is what we call messed up.
     
    * * * *
     
    Cole pulled into the rear parking lot of Troop A headquarters. Route 125 had been a ghost town tonight. He could have used the distraction of a speeder. Hell, he would have even taken a broken taillight. No such luck. After parking the cruiser and cutting the ignition, he thunked his head against the headrest. He was so screwed.
    He’d known when he’d watched his buddy, Craig “Gripper” Holcomb, slip away two nights ago that Mandy would be back for the funeral. He’d braced himself to see her again. He’d psyched himself up to tell her all the things Gripper had made him promise to say. He’d known it wasn’t going to be easy, not when six years hadn’t diminished his attraction to her one single iota. But he’d determined to grit his teeth and do what needed to be done. For Grip.
    He should have known no amount of preparation would help him. He was beyond help. He was toast. He was FUBAR.
    Mandy was even more beautiful than she’d been as a kid. Ever since he’d known her, she’d looked ten years older than she was. As a high-schooler, she’d been a knock-out brunette who would have been at home on the silver screen with her blown out waves and heavily-made-up almond-shaped eyes. It had always bothered Cole that he noticed her, but honestly, a man would have to be sans pulse not to notice a beauty like Mandy Holcomb. How